Nesting
by allthingsdecent
Summary: What if Amber and Wilson had a baby and, due to an emergency, House and Cuddy were forced to take care of it together? Comedic hijinks, domesticity and sexytime would ensue (hopefully).


Nesting

**AU fic, based on adorable prompt from Video Goddess (aka Mel) and Olivia. What if Wilson and Amber had a baby, an emergency came up, and House and Cuddy were forced to take care of it—together. Comedic hijinks, domesticity and sexytime would ensue (hopefully). Hope you enjoy! **

House was enthusiastically regaling Wilson with the details of the previous night's Monster Truck rally, when he stopped, mid-sentence.

"Are you _asleep_?" he asked.

Wilson, who had been nodding off, now bolted upright in his chair.

"No," he lied.

"Yes, you were. You took the occasion of my telling you a truly epic story about Megatruck versus The Decapitator to catch some Zs!"

Wilson sighed.

"I'm sorry. Sadie was colicky last night. I barely got a wink of sleep."

"I knew that you and Amber having this little bundle of burden was going to affect our friendship. I never thought you would start using our lunches together as nap time."

"It's just been particularly rough with Amber out of the country," Wilson explained.

"And what kind of new mother leaves the country for a Doctors Without Horizons trip anyway?"

"A new mother who realizes that there are other children who need her help, not just her own," Wilson said, with a twinge of pride. "Besides, I'm more than capable of watching Sadie on my own."

"I don't doubt that. You've always been an excellent mother to me."

"Hilarious House."

"So when does she get back?"

"Two more weeks," Wilson said, munching on a carrot. "Two more sleepless weeks."

"Are you breastfeeding Sadie yet?"

"Equally hilarious, House."

House shrugged.

"Can I finish my story now? Or would you rather we talked something more your speed, like diaper rash?"

#####

"And the patient is refusing all treatment?" Cuddy said, looking at the scan Wilson had just handed her.

"Yes. I was hoping we could get legal involved, maybe appeal to the patient's. . . " Just then, his phone buzzed. He looked down at it. "Excuse me one sec. I gotta take this."

He turned away from her, so she could only see his back, which suddenly began to slump.

She could justhear tiny bits of what he was saying:

"When?. . .How bad?. . .Oh my God. . . Of course, I'll find a way."

When he turned back around, his face was white.

"What is it?" Cuddy said, getting up from her desk, to take his arm. "Is everything okay?"

"Amber is sick. She has malaria.."

"Didn't she take prophylactic drugs for that?"

"Yes, but this is a particularly sneaky strain that is, apparently, impervious to the medicine."

"Oh my god, Wilson."

"They say she's going to be okay. But….she's alone out there. She needs me."

"Of course she does." Cuddy began thinking like a Dean of Medicine. "I'll transfer your patients to Dr. Gold; reschedule your clinic hours. You take all the time you need."

"I don't know what to do about Sadie," he said, still somewhat in shock.

Cuddy furrowed her brow.

"Your parents?" she suggested.

"They're in Boca."

"Your nanny?"

"She works days. She has a job as a cocktail waitress at night."

Then he looked at her, meaningfully.

"You don't think you could. . .?"

"Oh no," Cuddy said, backing away.

"Why not? You're trying to adopt. Look at this as a dry run! Well, drool run, to be more accurate." He laughed wanly. The fact that he could joke was a good sign. The color had come back to his face.

"Wilson, I can't. I mean, I take weeks to prepare to attend a baby shower. I can't just take your 4-month old."

"It's an emergency. I wouldn't ask otherwise, obviously."

Cuddy bit her nail.

"Even if I wanted to. I have too many responsibilities here at the hospital. I could never handle her on my own."

"Then I'll get you some help."

"Like who? You just said your parents are out of the state."

"Like House."

Cuddy actually laughed.

"Wilson, you probably need to sit down. You're delirious."

"For better or for worse, you and House are my best friends. If I can't count on you in a time of crisis, who then?"

"I'll be impressed if you can get House to drive you to the airport, let alone babysit Sadie."

Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"If I get House to help, will you do it?"

"Yes," Cuddy said. "I'll also do it if you get pigs to spontaneously sprout wings."

Wilson squinted at her.

"I think I know a way to get House to do it, if you'll agree. . ."

######

"No way!" House said, folding his arms.

"House! I'm asking as a friend."

"Look, I'm sorry your wife came down with a touch of the malaria but I don't think that's any reason. . .

"There's no such thing as a touch of malaria and you know it." Wilson argued.

"She'll be fine. They have Chloroquine in Africa, too."

"She's my wife, House. This is the 'in sickness' part of 'in sickness and in health.'"

"Well, that's your problem."

"My problems should be your problems. That's kind of the definition of friendship, House."

"More like the definition of doormat," House said.

"Are you seriously telling me that you're not going to help your alleged best friend in a time of crisis?"

House scratched his chin.

"Get Cuddy to watch Sadie. I'm sure she's ovulating at the very thought of it. Although she is a kidnapping risk, I suppose."

"Cuddy says she can't handle watching Sadie on her own."

"That makes two of us!"

"But you won't be alone."

House scowled.

"You want a _hooker_ to help take care of your infant?"

"No, you won't be alone because you'll be with Cuddy. She and I agree it would make more sense if you moved in with her to take care of Sadie while I was gone."

House laughed.

"Me? Move in with Cuddy?"

"Not permanently. Just while I'm in Africa."

House squinted at him.

"And Cuddy agreed to this?"

"It was her idea," Wilson lied.

House tapped a pen against his deck.

"Okay, I'll do it."'

"But not just because you think this is going to some how lead to you sleeping with Cuddy?" Wilson said, skeptically.

"First you ask for a favor. Then when I agree to do it, you question my motives?" House said, defensively.

"You're right," Wilson said. "That was unfair of me. I'm just really glad you're doing it."

"Anything for a friend."

As Wilson left House's office, he allowed himself a tiny, self-satisfied smile.

"Like taking candy from a baby," he said under his breath.

######

House turned up at Cuddy's door with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a guitar slung over the other.

"That's it?" she said. "That's all you have with you?"

"I travel light," he said, dropping his bags to the floor. "Where's the bambino?"

"She's asleep," Cuddy said, in a whisper. "For now. You want to see her?"

"I'm good," House said, grabbing a handful of nuts out of a bowl in the living room and tossing them in his mouth.

"How did we get ourselves into this?" Cuddy said, with a nervous chuckle.

"The persuasive power of one James Wilson, I guess," House said.

"And by that you mean, his shameless willingness to make us both feel guilty?" Cuddy said.

"Precisely."

He picked up his bags again: "Bedroom that way?" he said, jerking his thumb toward the master bedroom and walking in that direction.

Cuddy stopped him, placing her hand flush against his chest.

He looked down, feigning annoyance. (He secretly loved when she manhandled him.)

"Nice try sailor," she said. "That's my room. You're staying in the guest room."

"I figured the kid was staying there."

"No, Sadie is sleeping in my office."

"What kind of name is Sadie anyway?" House said, musingly. "Why do all the Yuppies name their kids after 80-year-old Jewish grandmothers these days?"

"Excellent question," Cuddy said. "One that you'll be contemplating alone, in _your_ room."

"It makes much more sense for us to share a room," House countered. "That way, if the little pooper wakes up in the middle of the night, we can negotiate who's going to deal with it."

"I'm sure we'll work something out," Cuddy said.

House shrugged.

"Suit yourself. Oh, and you should probably knock on the door before you come in because I sleep in the nude."

"You wanted to share my bed and you sleep in the _nude_?" she said, disapprovingly.

"I figured we'd both be nude," House shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

She shook her head, in an exasperated way, then said:

"Wait a second. You don't sleep naked. I've had to bang on your door and rouse you from a blissful afternoon slumber enough times to know that you wear pajamas."

"It's a new thing I'm trying out," House said. "I just started today."

"Try it out when you get home. In my house you wear pajamas."

"The human body is a beautiful thing," House sniffed. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Believe me, I'm not ashamed of _my _body," she said.

He gave her a tiny leer.

"No," he said. "Why would you be?"

#####

And that night, just as House had anticipated, Baby Sadie began wailing.

Both House and Cuddy lay in bed, expecting the other to deal with it.

Finally, at approximately the same time, they both groggily traipsed into the makeshift nursery.

House, much to Cuddy's relief, was wearing striped pajama bottoms and a white tee-shirt.

Cuddy, much to House's delight, was wearing a baby-doll nightie.

"Love the pajamas, Cuddy," he said, eyeing her. "If you were holding a giant lollypop, the image would be complete."

Ignoring him, Cuddy reached into the crib and scooped up Sadie.

"She's not wet," she said, patting her bottom. Then she sniffed that general area: "Smells good, too. So why is she crying?"

"She's concerned about global warming?"

"Seriously," Cuddy said, gently bouncing Sadie in her arms. "Now what?"

"I guess she's hungry?" House said. "Or maybe she wants to suckle. Give her your tit just to be on the safe side."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Go heat up some formula," she said.

"Me?" House said. "Why do I have to do it?"

"Okay, I'll do it. Here"—she thrust the still crying Sadie toward him.

"I'll heat up the formula," House said, wandering into the kitchen.

He came back five minutes later with the formula in a bottle.

"Babies like scalding hot, right?" he cracked.

"House," she scolded.

"Just kidding. It's delightfully warm. And now my wrists smell of eu de formula."

Cuddy smiled, despite herself: Testing the temperature of formula on the wrists was a time-honored mother's method.

She sat on a chair beside the crib, situated Sadie comfortably in her lap and gave her the bottle. Almost instantly, the baby stopped crying and began suckling happily.

"That's a relief," Cuddy said, with a tired, slightly blissed out smile.

For a second House took in the domestic tableaux of Cuddy, in her skimpy pajamas, feeding the tiny baby, sharing her relief with him, and felt a pang of, well, _something_—oddly not lust. (Or at least not _only _lust.) Then he snapped out of it.

"So you've got it from here?" he said.

"Oh noooo. If I'm losing sleep, you're losing sleep."

"I'm not sure that's how it works. More like, your turn, my turn. Again, better negotiated if we were both _in the same bed_."

"Tonight, we're both on the hook," Cuddy said. "The next time she cries, I'll do it. The time after that, you can. And so on and so on until we're relieved of our duties."

"Emphasis on doody," House said.

And Cuddy laughed.

######

They didn't see each other quite as much as they'd expected.

In the morning, when Cuddy left for work, House was always still asleep.

"Baby still sleeping?" Maria, the nanny, would whisper.

"Yes," Cuddy would reply testily. "Both of them."

At night, one of them was always working late, so they hadn't even managed to have dinner together yet.

The "your turn, my turn" method of tending to crying Sadie was going pretty well too. They could practically co-parent without bumping into each other.

That is, until one night when Sadie just wouldn't stop crying.

Cuddy lay in bed listening to the infant's wails, briefly wondering if House was still in his own bed. Maybe he had forgotten—or, knowing him, "forgotten"—that it was his night?

Finally, she got out of bed, put on a robe, and made her way to the nursery. But when she got there, House was already in the room, pacing, bouncing Sadie in his arms, and cooing at her nervously.

His hair was messy, there was a drool cloth on his shoulder and he looked every inch the frazzled and exhausted new dad at his rope's end.

"I changed her diaper. I fed her. I've been pacing around this room for 10 minutes. She won't stop crying!" he said.

He would never admit it, but he was relieved to see Cuddy.

"You wanna try?" he said, quickly thrusting Sadie into her arms.

"She's a baby, House," Cuddy said, taking her. "Not a hot potato."

House eyed her.

"I'm pretty sure your tit is our only option at this point," he said. "That baby _needs_ to suckle."

"It's not funny anymore."

"Okay, I'm stressed out," he moaned. "I _need_ to suckle."

"Go suckle yourself," Cuddy said.

He flashed a tiny grin.

"Ah, if only I could. . ." he replied.

She shook her head, ignored him.

"And you tried the pacifier?"

"Repeatedly."

Cuddy looked down at Sadie.

"Oh sweetie," she cooed. "What's the matter, baby? Why so upset?"

"Oh, I'm sure that line of questioning is going to yield results."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Actually," House said, with his "I just made the diagnosis" face. "I do."

And he slipped out of the room.

For a second, she thought he had gone back to bed, but he emerged a few minutes later with his guitar.

He pulled up another chair.

"Worth a shot," he said.

"No Van Halen," Cuddy warned.

He smiled, and much to her astonishment, began strumming a beautiful tune, a lullaby. He closed his eyes.

Cuddy had an unbidden flashback to his dorm room, circa 1989: House playing guitar for her, lanky and soulful, on his bed. Was there anything more of a turn-on on to a 19-year-old girl than a boy—especially a brilliant and brash boy who rarely copped to a sensitive side—playing his guitar? And apparently, what worked on her when she was 19, still worked on her at 40—and on Sadie, too, who had stopped crying and was staring ahead peacefully, in a blissed out, unblinking baby zone.

"It's working. Keep going," she whispered.

He grinned, kept playing. In minutes, Sadie was sound asleep, breathing evenly.

Cuddy gently placed her in the crib.

"Nice job, papa," she said, to House.

"You didn't do so bad yourself, mama," he replied.

And they looked down, contemplating their handiwork. To an outside observer they would've looked like a married couple, watching over their baby as she slept.

#######

The next night, Cuddy got home to the unexpected odor of garlic and thyme wafting from the kitchen. House emerged, wearing an apron.

"I hope you're hungry," he said, breezily. "I'm making lemon chicken."

"You're cooking dinner?" she said.

He shrugged in a "why not?" kind of way.

"And where's Sadie?"

"She's helping me cook." House said, gesturing to Sadie, who was propped up in her stroller. "And by 'helping me cook' I mean, she's sitting there like a lump, totally mesmerized by that mobile. She's a little obsessive, to be honest. Anyway, hopefully it'll last through dinner."

Cuddy was still a bit taken aback by the domesticity on display. (Seeing House do domestic things was almost surreal—she may has well have come home to the sight of James Bond in her kitchen, wearing an apron as he stirred martinis.)

"I didn't even know you could cook," she admitted.

"Oh, there's lots you don't know about me," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Open a bottle of wine."

She did, obediently—a nice sauvignon blanc she had been saving for a special occasion. She poured two glasses, handed him one, and set the table.

The food—lemon chicken, roasted new potatoes, haricot verts—was delicious. That bastard. Was there anything he wasn't good at?

"You like?" he said, proudly.

"I love," she admitted.

"Good." Then, idly, he said: "So how was your day?"

"How was _my day_?"

"Yeah," he said, defensively. "That's a question people ask over dinner, right?"

She smiled.

"Well, if you must know, my day was fine. Except for this one really annoying employee of mine who wants permission to do a risky nerve biopsy that, if it goes wrong, could cost the hospital millions in malpractice fees."

"Wow," House said. "He sounds like a real jerk."

"Oh, he's the worst. . ." she said playfully. "_And_ the best. You see the problem."

"I'm sure you'll do the right thing," House said, eyeing her. "You always do."

After dinner, Cuddy volunteered to the do the dishes: "The time-honored tradition," she explained. "You cook. I clean."

"I don't believe in traditions," he said, grabbing a dish towel.

When they finished, it was 8:30. Sadie had fallen asleep in her stroller.

"I'll put her down," House said, deftly wrapping Sadie in a blanket and hoisting the tiny bundle onto his shoulder. In the week they'd had Sadie, they'd both gotten more adept at everything—swaddling her, feeding her, burping her. ("Is House really helping you with _everything_?" Cameron had asked, trying to make her jealousy sound more like mere curiosity. "Everything," Cuddy replied. "You haven't lived until you've seen Gregory House changing a poopy diaper.")

He exited from the nursery and smiled at her.

"She's sleeping?"

"Like a baby," House said. "Which makes perfect sense, under the circumstances."

"Thanks for dinner," Cuddy said.

"Any time."

The contemplated each other, not quite knowing what to do or say next.

"I feel like we just had a date," Cuddy said, sheepishly.

"A good one, I hope," House said.

And he disappeared into his bedroom, before she could reply, "Yes."

######

So much for getting the hang of this parenting thing. That night, Sadie woke up wailing and there was nothing either of them could do to silence her—food, pacifiers, even the guitar was useless. (It was so stressful, Cuddy was half prepared to _actually_ break out her tit, if she thought it might help.)

"They say driving in a car gets babies to stop crying," House offered, finally.

"Road trip?" Cuddy said.

He shrugged. "Worth a shot?"

So they grabbed the car seat, put coats over their own pajamas, and headed out.

She stopped crying, almost instantly.

"How much longer should I drive?" House asked, glancing at Sadie through the rearview mirror.

"I don't know?" Cuddy said. "Maybe we should make sure it keeps. Half an hour?"

"Okay." Then he eyed her.

"What should we do to kill time?"

"I don't know. Listen to music? Look out the window?"

"I have a better idea: Truth or dare, Cuddy?"

She gave a little snort.

"No way."

"Wus."

"Excuse me if I don't want to moon the next trucker we see."

"How bout just truth then, no dares?" House said.

Cuddy shrugged.

"Alright. But I reserve the right to take the Fifth."

"You're such a killjoy," he said. Then, with a sneaky smile, "I'll go first: When did you lose your virginity?"

"And _of course_ you go straight to sex."

"What else?"

Cuddy sighed.

"Prom night, senior year of high school."

"You are such a cliché," House said, shaking his head. Then he added, "Let me guess. You were the prom queen."

"Hardly!" Cuddy protested. "I was a geek in high school. I was valedictorian! I played the flute!"

"Why do popular girls always deny that they were popular?"

"Who says I was popular?

"Your yearbook!"

"When did you see my yearbook?"

"If you were truly acting under the illusion that I had never dug up your yearbook, you really don't know me that well," he said. "Loved the scrunchie, by the way."

"The yearbook in no way proves I was popular," she sniffed.

"Voted Prettiest, Nicest, and Most Likely to Succeed," House recited.

"Well, that doesn't mean. . ."

"Oh, and I bet you were the worst kind of popular girl, too. Nice to even the geeky guys. Letting them think they had a chance. I'm sure they all went home and beat off to the thought of you in a Princess Leia costume."

"You're a pig," Cuddy said.

"And you know it's true. . . so back to the game. Was the sex any good?"

"You're not allowed a follow up question!" Cuddy said.

"Of course I am! It's in the rules!" He cleared his throat. "'The querier'—that's me—'Is allowed up to two follow up questions, for clarity's sake.'"

"You just made that up."

"House rules, so to speak. So…was the sex any good?"

Cuddy shrugged. She could only pretend to not be enjoying the game for so long.

"Is first sex ever any good?" she said, musingly. "I think it was the first time for both of us. He tried, bless his heart."

"So what was the first truly satisfying sex you had?" House said, leadingly.

"Is this one of those follow ups for clarity?" Cuddy teased. "Cause it sounds more like you're fishing for a compliment."

"Moi?" House cracked. "I had practically forgotten all about our little dalliance."

"Yeah, sure," she grinned. "And yes, sex with you was a cut above. If that's what you're driving at."

"Is that a circumcision joke?" he quipped.

She laughed.

"You were good. At the time, you were the best I'd ever had."

"At _the time_?"

Cuddy looked at him, provocatively.

"If you were acting under the illusion that the sex I had with you almost 20 years ago was the best I ever had, you don't know _me _that well," she said.

House couldn't suppress an impressed grin.

"Touché," he said.

"Okay, my turn," Cuddy said. "Same question. When did you lose your virginity?"

"Fourteen, to the divine Lola Bagnini. Ample of rack and of sexual adventurousness. She was a senior."

"Fourteen?" She wrinkled her nose. "That seems a little young."

He shrugged.

"I was precocious," he said.

"So was your first time any good?"

"It was great…for me," House cracked. "Not sure Lola Bagnini would say the same."

"And what were you Voted Most Likely To… in high school?" she said, genuinely curious.

"Most Likely to Move to a New Town the Minute I Made Any Real Friends," House said, sadly. "Army brat," he clarified.

"That sucks," Cuddy said.

"Yeah."

A slightly heavy silence fell between them.

"Okay, next question, Cuddles!" House said.

"Wait, I get another follow up question! You got two!"

"Okay, lay it on me, so to speak."

"The night we hooked up?" she said. She noticed House's fingers begin to grip the wheel a little tighter. "Was I just another notch in your belt? Or did it actually mean something to you?"

"Wait. Are we talking about _feelings_ suddenly? When did this game start to be about feelings?"

"Okay, the sex then," Cuddy said, somewhat nervously. "How did I rank?"

"Middle of the pack," he said.

"Hey!"

"Okay, that was a lie. Right at the top."

"And now you're just humoring me."

"Au contraire," he said, glancing at her. "You set me up for a lifetime of disappointment."

"You're going to have to explain that one," Cuddy said.

"Well, what I've learned since is that, generally, when you build up really high expectations for something, it disappoints you. You, on the other hand, _surpassed_ my expectations. You see? All down hill from there."

Cuddy felt strangely girlish and flattered.

"You had high expectations? About me?" she said.

He made a "duh" face.

"Of course," he said. "High school geeks in basements aren't the only ones who fantasized about you."

"Fantasized?" she teased. "Past tense?"

"Fantasize," he said. "Always."

Her mouth opened a bit. She was temporarily speechless.

And then, unexpectedly, he stopped the car.

Cuddy looked up. Much to her surprise, they were back home.

"The baby is sound asleep. It's past midnight. I guess that ends round one," he said.

"I guess so," she said, trying to regain her cool. "It was …fun."

"Yeah," he said. "Enlightening, too."

#######

An hour later, Cuddy lay in bed, thinking of House. They almost never talked directly about that night at Michigan; it was sort of an unspoken rule between them. They could joke about it, make suggestive remarks, tease each other in sly ways. But actually address it? Head on? That was unprecedented.

This whole night had made her rethink House—the whole week actually.

Seeing him with the baby (he pretended to be indifferent, but on more than one occasion she had caught him kissing Sadie's head or inhaling her wonderful baby smell), watching him play guitar, watching him cook. It was almost like they were living in some sort of parallel universe where they were a married couple and she was their real baby.

And then tonight—all that talk about sex. His straightforward admission that he desired her. She found herself restless, hot, thinking of him—wanting him.

"Fuck it," she said out loud. And she quietly made her way into the living room.

His room was dark and still. The door was closed.

If he was sleeping, she would just leave him be. But what if he was awake, lying in bed, thinking of her, just as she was thinking of him?

She took a deep breath, opened the door.

House was lying motionless, in the dark.

She tiptoed to his bedside, to see if he was awake. His eyes were closed.

_Dumb idea_, _Lisa,_ she thought. And she started to leave. But before she could get very far, House grabbed her by the arm.

She gasped a bit.

He sat up, slowly pulled her toward him.

Without saying a word, he began kissing her, and she kissed back, relieved to be succumbing to her body's desire, dissolving into him, into _it_—the formless, dreamlike state of pure sensuality.

In the dark, he undressed her, kissing her everywhere: Her lips, her eyelids, her throat, her breasts. He was ardent, but patient—lingering over every inch of her skin, eliciting shimmering sensations from her body she didn't even know she had.

And then he was inside her, filling her up, massaging her ass, suckling her nipples—so he had gotten that, too, in the end—until she was almost dizzy with pleasure. They began to moan, in unison—the first sounds either they had uttered since she'd entered his room.

When it was over, she rolled off him and they lay, side by side, both naked (another House prediction come true), on the bed.

"Hi," Cuddy said, with a little giggle.

"Hi yourself," he said, kissing her. Then he whispered in her ear: "Once again, surpassing my fantasies."

And they both fell asleep.

#####

She rose before he did the next morning—he mumbled a groggily petulant "no! stay" when she got out of bed and caressed her arm, before falling back to sleep— and slipped out to work, handing Baby Sadie off to Maria.

They managed to not see each other until about 5 p.m. that day, at which time Cuddy made her way to his office.

He was alone, looking over a scan, with his glasses low on his nose.

She wasn't sure how he was going to react—play it cool? Say nothing?

But when he saw her, he took off his glasses and broke into a huge grin.

"There she is," he said. "I've been wondering when you were going to show."

"Sorry," she demurred. "Busy day."

"So you've actually been able to focus on work, huh?" he said, scratching his head. "I always knew you were made of stronger stuff than I."

"Focus has been. . .intermittent at best," she admitted.

"So. . ." he said.

"So," she said back, flirtily. "You made dinner for me last night. I thought it was only fair that I make dinner for you tonight. Up for it?"

"Absolutely."

"Good," she said.

And they beamed at each other.

"Wow, you two look happy!"

The voice, coming from the doorway, belonged to none other than James Wilson.

"You're . . . back!" Cuddy said, with false cheer.

"I thought you weren't due home for another four days," House said.

Wilson was in such a good mood, he didn't even notice that his best friend didn't exactly look thrilled to see him.

"Amber was well enough to travel. We were both missing Sadie so much. So we decided to book an earlier flight."

"Where's Amber now?" Cuddy said.

"She went home to rest. I was going to go straight to your place to pick up Sadie, but I figured I'd stop here first. It was on the way."

"You were just going to take Sadie without telling us?" House said.

"Well, I _was _going to call first…" Wilson said. "She is my kid, after all. Speaking of which, how is she?"

"Fine," House said, grumpily. "How else would she be?"

"Wilson, she's adorable," Cuddy said, shooting House a look. "We really enjoyed watching her so much."

Wilson looked at Cuddy, then back at House.

"I can tell…" he said, curiously. "Anyway, you don't mind if I just head over to your place and get her right now, do you? I'm dying to see her."

"I'll go with you!" Cuddy said, quickly.

"Me too," House said, popping up.

Wilson shrugged.

"I guess Sadie will get a proper sendoff then," he said.

#####

At Cuddy's place, Wilson smothered his daughter in kisses before packing up all her stuff—her bottles, her blankets, her clothing, her stuffed duck.

He stood in the doorway—Sadie in her stroller; two giant duffel bags slung over his shoulder—before getting ready to go.

"I can't thank you guys enough. Terrifying as this is to say, I owe you both. Big time."

"It was our pleasure," Cuddy said. "Really."

"You're damn right you owe me," House said. "She ruined two of my tee-shirts with her toxic drool."

Cuddy bent toward the stroller.

"Goodbye little one," she said. And she placed a gentle kiss on Sadie's cheek.

Then she turned to House, who was standing back, his arms folded.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

"She doesn't actually understand words yet, you know," he mumbled.

But then, as though humoring Cuddy, he walked up to the stroller, peered in.

"Goodbye, you little pooper," he said. "Stay cool."

"Thanks again, guys," Wilson said. "I'll tell you all about Africa when I get back to work."

"You need help with any of that?" Cuddy said, gesturing to all his stuff.

"No, I'm good."

And House and Cuddy watched Wilson walk down the driveway, pack all the gear into his Volvo, strap Sadie into the car seat, and drive away.

Cuddy felt sad, in more ways than one. She had an urge to take House's hand, but wasn't sure if that was appropriate.

"I'm actually going to miss her," she finally said.

"Me too," House said. But he was looking at Cuddy when he said it.

"So I guess. . ."

"I guess I need to pack up my shit, too," House said dejectedly.

"Right," Cuddy said. "Of course."

She followed him into the guest room.

House had half-heartedly made the bed. The blanket and sheets were still slightly tangled from the previous night's activity.

House began throwing his tee-shirts and Nikes into his duffel bag. He seemed singularly focused on his task—like it was something unpleasant he hoped to dispense with quickly.

"House?" Cuddy said.

"Yeah?" A razor, a pair of boxers, his deodorant—all into the bag.

"There's no need for you to rush off so hastily."

He eyed her.

"No?"

"I mean, I could still make us dinner, if you'd like."

He smiled for the first time since Wilson had arrived on the scene. Then he dumped the contents of the duffel bag onto the bed.

"I'll set the table," he said.

THE END


End file.
